Count to eight. Keep your posture straight. Never let them see you shake.

Standing in the dim light of my small apartment, I pulled the black laces of my pointe shoes tight around my ankles. I stood up on the tips of my toes, holding my balance in complete silence, then stepped down smoothly.

To everyone else, I was just another quiet former dance student. But under my clothes, my body remembered everything.

I walked over to the desk where my laptop sat open in the dark. The encrypted website I launched six months ago was buzzing with notifications.

There were thousands of posts from women across the city. Girls who had been hurt, discarded, and told to keep quiet because the men who targeted them had money, power, and lawyers.

My finger hovered over a name at the top of the list: Richard Sterling.

I knew that name. Ten years ago, my parents worked in the staff quarters of an estate owned by his family. When I was a teenager coming home from dance class, the owner's son took away my future in a single night.

When I dragged myself home crying and begging my parents to call the police, they didn't get me help. The rich man handed them an envelope thick with cash, and my parents took it. They sold out their own daughter so we could keep living in their house.

That was the night the girl who loved to dance died. I ran away from home, learned how to fight, and learned how to make monsters cry.

I clicked on Richard Sterling’s profile on my screen and marked his status: In Progress.

An hour later, the alley behind the Sterling family’s nightclub was freezing cold.

Richard didn't hear me come up behind him. He was too drunk, too used to believing his family’s wealth made him untouchable.

Before he could even turn around, I pinned him against the cold brick wall with my knife pressed tight against his neck.

"Please," he gasped, his eyes wide with fear. "Take my watch! My dad can give you millions, just don't hurt me!"

I leaned in close to his ear, keeping my voice completely flat.

"Your father paid my parents a few thousand dollars ten years ago to keep me quiet," I said softly. "Consider this the interest."

I didn't rush. Every cut was deliberate and calm. Deep into the flesh of his thigh, I carved six letters so deep no amount of money could ever erase them:

RAPIST

When I was done, I took what I always took from men like him. A permanent trophy to make sure he could never put his hands on another girl again.

In the distance, police sirens started wailing through the night air.

I wiped my blade clean, pulled my hood over my head, and stepped out into the street. I walked away into the dark with the steady, calm pace of a dancer leaving the stage.

Five miles away at the Central Police Station, Detective Julian stared at the crime scene report on his desk.

His phone buzzed with a text message from an encrypted number. It was from his younger sister, a girl who had survived her own attack years ago while the guy walked free.

Are you watching the news, Julian? her message read. Someone is finally doing what the law was too scared to do.